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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/25091071">Stranger in the bakery</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/toutcequonveut/pseuds/toutcequonveut'>toutcequonveut</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>A Dudley Dursley who has been to Therapy and Knows the Importance of Talking About His Feelings, Bakery, Fluff, Fluff and Humor, Food, HP Fluff Fest 2020, Love Confessions, M/M, Neurodivergent Gregory Goyle, Nice Dudley Dursley, One Shot, Original Character(s), Redeemed Dudley Dursley</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-09-17</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-09-17</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-04 05:08:19</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>3,649</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/25091071</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/toutcequonveut/pseuds/toutcequonveut</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>The people of the town are confused.<br/>Dudley is confused, but then he isn't.<br/>Greg is confused, but he's in love and that's more important.<br/>Harry is very confused, but just goes with it.</p><p>Or: a glimpse into the morning after Dudley and Greg's first time, featuring bakery buns and <i>other</i> buns</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Dudley Dursley/Gregory Goyle</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>22</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>72</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Collections:</b></td><td>HP Fluff Fest 2020</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Stranger in the bakery</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Prompt #44: Every Sunday, character A gets up early and makes their way to character B's favourite bakery.<br/>Beta-ed by notobvioustome, thank you!</p><p>I reread a bunch of Roald Dahl books just before writing this, and his style definitely influenced my writing XD</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>It was one of those golden Saturday mornings in late spring, the kind where the sun stretches over the horizon to nudge everything in her path into wakefulness. The little village was already bustling though. Children were out and about, playing in the garden while their parents put together breakfast. Adults stepped out for a breath of fresh air, or maybe headed to the shops for a quick stop because the household had run out of milk or eggs the day before, and how could you not have noticed you used the last bit Damian, go out and get some more right now or I <i>will</i> unleash the fury of both myself and our unborn child on you, and while you’re at it please pick up some bread as well because I want a pickle sandwich.</p><p>So it was that kind of day on a very average sort of weekend morning, except for one difference. A difference that could be felt with each heavy step the man took down the streets of the little village. His presence seemed to be even larger than his hulking body, but such was the effect of strangers in a small town. The bustle in his immediate area died down as the village inhabitants ceased their usual activities to stare at him, cataloguing his appearance and trying to figure out which residence he belonged to. Maybe he was a family member of someone, visiting for the day?</p><p>They took in his huge frame,  the breadth of his shoulders that some might describe as ‘hulking’. Maybe related to the Smithsons? That family is a rather large sort. No, even their bulk doesn’t compare to this man. Besides, the Smithsons are right there, watching the man walk down the street along with everyone else. No, he can’t be a Smithson.</p><p>They noted the scars on his neck and hands, the eyebrows and forehead that looked as if they had never unwrinkled, the wary expression in his eyes. He looked as though he’d been through a war. Gulf War? What a shame, having been to war and only as young as that! That’s how war is, Marjorie. I’ve half a mind to write to the Prime Minister myself and tell him to stop it! No more war! We live in a <i>civilized</i> age now! Quite so Marjorie. Here, I’ll write a letter too.</p><p>They whispered to each other about his clothes, full coverage long shirt and pants and heavy boots despite the warm spring morning. His scars disappeared under the clothing, implying that he had more beyond what was visible. Could just be to hide the scars, though you wouldn’t think of his type as the vain kind. Maybe he’s goth! No, you nitwit, he doesn’t have nearly enough nail polish or jewelry to be goth. Oh, so you’re such an expert, are you? Uhhh, hey look, he’s going into a shop!</p><p>The residents of the town stealthily crept as one to the doors of the bakery, peering through the glass front as the man walked through the aisles and examined the display cases. Little Mary Ann Higgs even walked right into the bakery so she could get a better look at what he was buying. Some of the adults tried to stop her, but then it was pointed out that she could report back on the information she gleaned. Their desire for gossip having outcompeted their concerns about stranger danger, the watchers settled in. Besides, they were all right there. Nothing bad could happen. Right?</p>
<hr/><p>At nine years old, Mary Ann Higgs was old enough to know her own thoughts but also young enough to be cute enough to get away with doing things like snooping on a stranger. She followed sneakily along as the man perused the options Ms. Lucinda had put out today.</p><p>He glanced through the loaves of rye, sourdough, and pumpernickel, then moved on to eye the berry tarts with interest. Mary Ann knew that the raspberry tart was best this time of year, but because she was being sneaky she did not pipe up and inform the stranger of her insider knowledge. Score one for sneakiness! Mary Ann would have high-fived herself except, well, she was being <i>sneaky</i>. </p><p>In any case, the man had moved on to the scones. Mary Ann’s nose wrinkled at the thought of Ms. Lucinda’s lemon blueberry scones. She always put too much lemon in them, and they were somehow drier than the other scones despite presumably being made from the same dough. If you were smart, you didn’t buy any lemon blueberry scones from Rising Up and you went to Mr. Willingham up the way and he would have a tray of scones that was somehow always fresh out of the oven, delicate and flaky and with the perfect touch of sweetness to them. You couldn’t bank on getting the flavor you wanted, but in the face of such scone-based splendor, it hardly mattered.</p><p>Fortunately for him, the stranger walked away from the scones to examine the Chelsea buns next. Now these were a real treat. Everyone knew that Ms. Lucinda’s Chelsea buns were the best in the whole world, even better than Mary Ann’s grandma’s (though her mum had sworn her to secrecy so as not to hurt Grandma Goldie’s feelings). The yeasty dough was spiced to perfection with cinnamon and lemon with the perfect amount of currants sprinkled throughout, completely coated in a delightfully sticky glaze. Mary Ann let out a silent cheer as the stranger placed four buns on his tray. At this point, she had quite forgotten her original purpose of snooping and was now fully invested in seeing whether this stranger could <i>properly</i>navigate the hits and misses of the town bakery.</p><p>He then turned to the small selection of French pastries made by Ms. Nadine, who was Ms. Lucinda’s wife. Mary Ann quite liked the French pastries, and it seemed that the stranger might like them too because he grabbed two pains au chocolat, two croissants, and a baguette and headed for the register. At the last second, he veered back to add a raspberry tart to his tray. Mary Ann was a little disappointed that he hadn’t given a second glance to the pretty macarons, but she reluctantly allowed that as an adult he probably thought it was “too early for cookies”, like Mary Ann’s mum did. </p><p>She would have wandered off to watch Ms. Nadine through the window to the kitchen, but something caught Mary Ann’s eye. With powers of observation honed through many a detective novel, she observed that the stranger grew more and more nervous as he approached the till. His anxiety seemed to amplify when Ms. Lucinda rang up his total and he handed over what looked to be a fifty pound note. Mary Ann was top of her class in maths, and doing the sums quickly in her head, she realized that the stranger’s purchases would hardly total over ten pounds, if that. It was a little odd, and clearly Ms. Lucinda thought so too because she held the note up to the light, tilted it this way and that, and ran her fingers over the surface of it. In the end the note was genuine enough for Ms. Lucinda, and she handed over his change and a paper bag filled with delicious baked goods. </p><p>The stranger pocketed the notes, and Mary Ann wished fervently that she had brought some of her pocket money with her, thinking of the delicacies in that bag. Her craving only sharpened when the man, still standing at the till, carefully lifted out the raspberry tart. It seemed to sparkle in the natural light that flowed in through the bakery windows (though somewhat obscured by the townspeople who still crowded the building front). Mary Ann could almost taste the flaky crust and the tart burst of raspberry swimming in creamy custard. The stranger had made a good selection, all right. Being the wise age of nine, though, she knew better than to ask the stranger for a bite.</p><p>But then! In full view of Ms. Lucinda (and Ms. Nadine, who had come out of the kitchen to watch), the stranger offered the tart to Mary Ann! She stared at him for a moment, weighing the options and realizing that perhaps her expert sneakiness was not quite so sneaky after all. On the one hand, it wasn’t really right to accept sweets from strangers, but this was made by Ms. Lucinda, and the stranger hadn’t even really touched it. Ms. Lucinda and Ms. Nadine didn’t look concerned, at any rate. And besides, the raspberry tart was calling to her. Mary Ann could swear she could hear it whispering in her ear. Really, with all that, how could she refuse? She gingerly plucked the sweet from his hands and said “thank you” because her mum had raised a polite little girl and not a heathen (or at least, that’s what her mum said to dissuade her from things like chewing with her mouth open, or not covering her mouth when she yawned). </p><p>It seemed that the stranger thought her polite enough, anyway. His gruff face transformed into a soft smile at Mary Ann’s satisfaction, and then he turned to leave. The watchers at the bakery door scattered hastily, pretending as if they had been minding their own business all the while. Mary Ann Higgs, though, felt she knew the truth of the stranger now. As the townspeople reformed their wall of silent watching, she sat in the bakery and munched on her treat, content in the knowledge that this newcomer to the village was not a bad man.</p>
<hr/><p>Outside, the townspeople followed the man with their eyes. As he passed by house after house, they ran through the possibilities of his reason for being here. As the number of homes he could be headed to dwindled, there was eventually only one conclusion left. Unfortunately, that opened up the further question: what was his relation to Dudley Dursley?</p>
<hr/><p>Dudley opened his eyes blearily. It was a good deal later than he usually rose, but he figured he could be forgiven the lie-in given how fantastic he felt. Well-rested, well-fucked, what more could he ask for? He turned to express just that to his hopefully-boyfriend-as-of-last-night and frowned as his eyes focused on the empty spot in bed next to him. He sat up hurriedly, peering over the edge of the mattress. There was no sign of clothes on the floor either, but Dudley was sure that they had landed on the floor during the <i>enthusiasm</i> last night. </p><p>He let out a huge sigh, flopping back onto the bed. Well that was disappointing. Dudley had hoped that the past few months meant something more, that those dates that went on long beyond the hours of the restaurants, turning into late night walks of conversation and laughter, implied more than a one night stand. Yesterday, when he had invited the man he hoped would be his boyfriend into his home and into his bed, it had seemed like the overture of something wonderful. Dudley had seen stars last night, and he had known he was in love.</p><p>But alas, here Dudley was, abandoned the morning after. His stomach gave a huge growl just as the front door opened and shut. “Harry, if that’s you, this is <i>not</i> the time!” he shouted. He should be allowed <i>some</i> time to wallow, dammit! Then Dudley remembered the very fragile nature of the relationship he and his cousin were only just starting to repair and hastily added, “Not to say I don’t appreciate you! I’m just… not in the mood for company right now.”</p><p>He heard rustling noises from the kitchen and then, to his horror, footsteps approaching the bedroom door. Dudley hurriedly snatched a corner of the sheet and managed to whip it over his bits just as the door opened. He raised his head to meet what was sure to be Harry’s awkwardly averted gaze.</p><p>Instead, Greg stood in the doorway.</p><p>“Greg! You’re still here!” Dudley was shocked and pleased at this development.</p><p>“Yes.” Greg never spoke many words at a time. That didn’t bother Dudley, because it meant he was a <i>great</i> listener, and his rare words were sweeter for their scarcity. Greg had seemed rather taken aback by Dudley’s easy acceptance, enough so that he’d eventually explained himself without Dudley’s ever having asked. Speaking was very uncomfortable for him, he’d said. Dudley had immediately asked if writing or maybe even that sign language might be better to communicate, it was okay, Dudley would go learn it right now if it meant that Greg would feel more at ease. Greg had responded by initiating their first kiss. After, Greg had assured him that as long as Dudley didn’t mind how he talked, this was just fine for now, and Dudley’s heart had melted just a little.</p><p>“Who’s Harry?”</p><p>The question shook Dudley out of his reminiscing. “Huh? Oh, did you see Harry? He’s that cousin I told you about. Sometimes he drops by on the weekends and we have an awkward breakfast together. Trying to reconcile and all that, you know. I can go deal with him, and then we can have a proper morning together.”</p><p>Greg stops him with a hand on his chest. “No, he’s not here. Just me.”</p><p>Dudley looks up in confusion. “Was that you opening the front door then?”</p><p>“Yes. Got breakfast.” Turning back towards the door, Greg beckoned for Dudley to follow. After throwing on a bathrobe, Dudley did just that. </p><p>The kitchen looked exactly the same as the night before, except that a paper bag from Rising Up lay on the kitchen table. “You didn’t!” he cried out. Reverently, he removed the contents one by one, admiring each piece of perfection from his favorite bakery for the masterpieces they were. When he saw the Chelsea buns, he gasped, “These are my favorite! How did you know?”</p><p>Greg smiled. “I know. I listened.” </p><p>Well, that was it. Dudley dropped the bun and grabbed Greg’s buns in a crushing hug. “I love you so much, you know?”</p><p>Greg’s eyes widened in shock. “You do?”</p><p>“Definitely.” Dudley sealed the words with a long, deep kiss. “You don’t have to say it back now if you don’t feel the same, but I wanted you to know that’s how <i>I</i> feel.”</p><p>Greg reached one hand up and lay it over top of Dudley’s, which was cupping Greg’s cheek. “I… I love you too.” Then, because he was an action-sort-of-man, Greg returned the kiss with an even more enthusiastic one. That kiss turned into another, and another, and before long, they were rapidly losing clothing. Greg’s mouth was poised to give what was sure to be the best blowjob of Dudley’s life when—</p><p>The front door swung open.</p><p>“Hey Duds, sorry I’m a little late today but you would not <i>believe</i> what happened to me on the way here...” Harry’s voice sounded from the front hallway.</p><p>As his cousin’s footsteps approached, Dudley threw his abandoned bathrobe over Greg’s head and shoved him towards the bedroom, calling out frantically in the direction of the front door, “Harry, now is really not the best time, please don’t come in—“</p><p>“So first off, this old lady in the street—OH MY GOD MY EYES!!”</p><p>Dudley jerked back reflexively, his hands diving to cover his bits even though his backside was facing the door. “Dammit, Harry, I was trying to tell you that I was a little <i>occupied!”</i></p><p>“I’ll say,” Harry replied faintly. “Er, I’ll just step out again, shall I?”</p><p>“Please.” </p><p>Dudley was sure to lock the door after Harry exited, just in case. When he turned around to get dressed, he found Greg still standing at the kitchen hallway, staring at him. The bathrobe was at least off his face, but his fist was clenched tightly around it. Dudley had never seen him so agitated. “Greg? Are you okay?”</p><p>“That’s your cousin?” Greg sounded as if he were about to hyperventilate. <i>”Him?”</i></p><p>“Greg, who gives a fuck about Harry right now, I’m more worried about you! You don’t have to tell me everything if you don’t want to, but please tell me if it’s something I can fix. You look like you’re about to faint.”</p><p>Greg turned to look at Dudley then, really <i>look</i> at him. Dudley didn’t know what he was searching for, but he seemed to find it because that lovely smile came out and melted away the nervousness. “You love me?” he asked carefully.</p><p>Dudley wasn’t sure what to make of the strange goings-on of this morning and also he’d very nearly been caught with his dick out by his cousin, which he was fairly sure counted as being emotionally traumatized, but he was at least certain of this one thing. “I don’t just love you Greg. I <i>adore</i> you.” He wrapped his arms around Greg and held on tightly, emphasizing each sentence with a kiss. “I love how kind you are. I love the way you point out cute animals when we’re out and about. I love how you notice things that no one else would ever notice, and then you want to tell me about it. I love how you listen so much, and every thought of yours you give to me is such a treasure. And I can’t believe I’m so lucky to have you want to be here with me. God knows my past self didn’t deserve you, but the fact that you keep wanting to stick around makes me think that maybe I’m not doing such a bad job at becoming a better man.”</p><p>Greg grasped Dudley’s shoulders and pulled him back, leaning in close. “No. You’re a good man. With or without me. I wasn’t a good kid either. But it’s more important what we do with ourselves than what we’ve done with ourselves. And you’re most important to me. I want to be your boyfriend and spend every day with you. If you’ll have me.”</p><p>It’s the most Dudley has ever heard him speak in one go, and what a speech! Dudley threw himself at his boyfriend for their most enthusiastic kiss yet. Which turned into another kiss, and another, and another—</p><p>Dudley pulled back and kissed Greg’s nose. “We should probably get dressed in case he comes back,” he confessed ruefully. </p><p>As if on cue, there was a pounding at the door. “Dudley! Don’t worry, I’m not coming in until you give me the go-ahead. I went to the bakery and picked up some breakfast! You like the uh, raisin buns, right?”</p><p>Rolling his eyes, Dudley ushered his boyfriend into the bedroom to pick out some clean clothing. “It’s the Chelsea buns, Harry!” he called back. To Greg, he whispered, “Do you want to sneak out the back? You don’t have to stay for this. I could send him away, but this rebuilding thing is still so new…”</p><p>Greg finished pulling one of Dudley’s old wrestling T-shirts over his head and laid a comforting hand on Dudley’s shoulder. “I’ll stay. Let him in.”</p><p>Was it a trick of the light, or was there a hint of humor in Greg’s eyes? Dudley didn’t have time to ponder the matter, because Harry was now humming the Jeopardy theme song, except it was getting faster and faster by the second. Dudley wasn’t sure how impatient Harry would get before simply magicking the door open, and he wasn’t looking forward to finding out that particular limit.</p><p>Once he had ensured both he and Greg looked presentable, he unlocked the front door and swung it wide open. Harry was sitting on the step, back to the door, a paper bag next to him. One hand was holding a half-eaten raisin bun (the traitor! He could have at least waited two more minutes!).</p><p>“Dudley! You wouldn’t believe it, so many people came up to me asking if you had a personal henchman or something. One of them asked if you had hired an ex-soldier to—Merlin’s saggy ballsack on a kebab stick, what are you doing with fucking Gregory Goyle?!” </p><p>“Not just fucking,” Greg said helpfully. “Boyfriends.”</p><p>Several beats of silence stretched out.</p><p>“Er, would you like to come in for breakfast?” Dudley offered politely. If you didn’t know what else to do, his mum had once advised, good manners never lead anyone astray. Which was a bit rich coming from her, as Dudley had realized later in life exactly how shite a person his mum was, but at least this seemed like safe counsel.</p><p>Harry looked from the bun in his hand to the couple standing before him. “Didn’t know it was legal to put hallucinogens in baked goods these days,” he mused. “Well, sure why not? My life has always been weird. Might as well have breakfast with my cousin and his boyfriend, one of my old nemesis’s bodyguards.”</p><p>And with that Harry stood and followed Greg and Dudley into the little house, and while the golden sun rose higher and higher in the sky and buds bloomed and bees buzzed busily about, the three of them ate their way through a breakfast of too many baked goods. It was a meal that was delicious, awkward, and full of hesitant starts and stops. There was nothing perfect about it, but also nothing awful about it, because it was a beginning and not an ending and the only thing that mattered was where they went from here, so they just needed to define which “here” to start from. </p><p>Dudley thought it quite nice to start his “here” in his little house in the village, introducing his boyfriend to the only family he much cared about these days, sharing stories and flaky pastries and crusty bread from the bakery down the way.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>🌻 This work is part of Fluff Fest, a Harry Potter-centered fest dedicated to fluffy themes, meet cutes and wholesome vibes.</p><p>If you’ve enjoyed this work, please show love and support to our precious content creators by leaving kudos and comments! 💌</p><p>  <a href="https://hpfluff-fest.tumblr.com/">Feel free to check out the fest's tumblr for more updates. </a></p></blockquote></div></div>
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